A Night of Sin
by miyouimi
Summary: Alfred overtakes Arthur one night while he is drunk, but Arthur doesn’t seem to remember a thing. When will the guilt be enough for the secret to come out? USXUK
1. The Unbearable Guilt

**Title**: A Night of Sin

**Summary**: Alfred overtakes Arthur one night while he is drunk, but Arthur doesn't seem to remember a thing. When will the guilt be enough for the secret to come out? USXUK

**Rating**: T for teen .

**Disclaimer**: Yeah, so Hetalia does not belong to me…Blah blah… If it did I would certainly be more awesome than Prussia, yes?

**A/N** : I want to thank Haya-chan, whom on here is known as Mew Bakas, for being my Prussia awesome editor! I don't know where I'd be without her. Crying in a ditch somewhere probably….\ Anywaaays, hope you like it! My first Hetalia Fic, evar. ;3

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**Chapter one: The Unbearable Guilt**

Oh God.

Oh God.

What was he doing?

Tears formed at the edges of his eyes.

He was suffocating Arthur with his uncontrollable emotions.

He could not willingly refrain himself any longer

"N-nggh. A-Alfred…" The half conscious Brit looked at him, his mind so obviously not in this world that any person with common sense could tell you that he was drunk. Too drunk to barely move at this point, though he did seem to have some small acknowledgment of what Alfred was doing. Alfred felt his shaky hands moving towards the Brit's pants, only earning a halfhearted groan from the older nation underneath him. Hearing the noises emitting from the smaller nation, Alfred felt his hands move without hesitation now, too blinded with want. What was he doing? How could he be doing this? His hands were moving on their own accord now, even if his thoughts were screaming at him to stop. He should have known better.

There was a small gasp, more movements, then simply an almost lethargic nod.

Alfred moved on, even if he could see Arthur was totally out of it. The Brit would slip from this world any second, but he held on for some reason, his hands loosely resting on the American's head with the blonde strands intertwined in his fingers gently. More groans filled the room as Arthur's grip on Alfred tightened, pulling on the blonde strands with force.

Yes, Arthur was too drunk.

Too drunk to do anything.

Too drunk to remember anything.

_Flash back _

_He found Arthur in the bar just as expected, though he hadn't expected for him to be singing old English songs with others at the top of his lungs. He started laughing a little as he entered, his smile widening as if it was a funny fact that he spotted him this easily. Arthur's voice really was easily distinguished from others when he was drunk. _

_He wanted to tell him why he had come here, but now it seemed that it would be a challenge just to get Arthur home. The thought never crossed his mind that when he came to visit Arthur, tonight was one of his drinking nights. Also, he seemed more wasted than usual, which made Alfred think a little as to why. Shrugging it off, he decided he would help him home before anything bad happened. He knew he had a tendency to get a little crazy while he was drunk and then get all sad about it the next morning. At least he had come at the right time! He could save Arthur the embarrassment! Oh, he'd so be the hero and take Arthur home and when he woke up in the morning Alfred would make Arthur tell him how awesome he was for saving him. Yes, it sounded like a great plan! _

_Well, in his mind it sounded great, but when he walked over to the Brit, the happy smile was shot down with a deathly harsh glare as soon as he was recognized. _

_"Fuck...uggg... you doin' 'ere?" _

_Alfred's eye narrowed as he tried to put Arthur's sentence together, finding his words too confusing and slurred. Finally, after he got it right, it clicked. Ah, that's what he said! Oh, well- Hey, wait, that wasn't very nice! Well...Arthur was drunk.. so he probably shouldn't expect any different. _

_Brushing it off with a laugh, a smile easily spread across his face. "Iggy! Come on! I just wanted to tell you something amazing! Seeing as you're drunk, though, I guess I have to take you home since you probably won't remember anything I say." Now the plan could go in motion! Yes! Though, when Alfred went to touch his arm, Arthur backed off and glared at American incredulously. He knew as Arthur was about to go on a rant again, he noticed the Brit swayed a little in his chair, slumping off of it moments later. _

_Alfred simply let out a small laugh as he dragged Arthur up to sit him back down in the chair, looking over the drunk Brit over with small amusement. Eh, maybe just sitting here with him for a couple beers would be nice, even if he was well aware of how Arthur yelled and really couldn't come up with a coherent conversation while he was drunk. _

_He ordered himself a beer and sat down in the chair next to Arthur. He didn't know why he did, but tonight...he just felt like he had needed one. He found that he glanced back over to the obviously angry English man once before downing the drink that was in front of him. After that was finished, he let out a small sigh, knowing that if Arthur were going to be this drunk, he wouldn't be able to enjoy being here with him. He was right. He didn't think he would ever be able to enjoy drinking with Arthur. _

_He might as well take him home now...Ready to stand up, he realized there was another beer in front of him. The bartender simply gave a small wink and Alfred let out a small laugh, feeling immensely awkward all of the sudden. Not wanting any trouble, he downed the second one in no time, cringing at the bitter taste left on his tongue. Things seemed to feel a little weird too. Oh well. Really, now he should take Arthur home. His gaze drifting back to the oddly silent English man, he was met with a weird stare. _

_What the? Arthur was yelling earlier and now he was just giving weird stares? Soon enough though, Arthur's face turned to that of accusation once more. "You stupid git! I haaaate you! Fuck you! Never fuckin' appreciated what 'ey did fur ye!" a very drunk England yelled at the top of his lungs, small tears forming at the edges of his eyes as his face turned a bright, burning red color. That was unexpected. The alcohol must really be getting to him. _

_Worry lines appearing on his face, he got up and took Arthur out of the seat in the pub, deciding it was now time to leave. He left the pub seconds later with the Brit slung over his shoulder, no matter how many protests or kicks were thrown. Even if Arthur was drunk, it still hurt that he was doing these types of things, like the kicking and swearing. Did he really hate him that much? Did he hold back his hatred until he decided to let it out while he was drunk? The very thought made Alfred's chest tighten as his breaths came a little shakily. He shouldn't feel this bad about it, but he did. Arthur was his former father figure, so having fights with him all of the time was simply building up in the American, even if he pretend to brush them off like they meant nothing. It hurt. Why was he feeling like this? _

_As they walked -well, more Alfred walking while Arthur was carried - along, Alfred had found Arthur calmed down a little as he made his way to Arthur's house. Eventually there, he set Arthur down as he let out a sigh. Arthur stood there almost in a dazed like state now, leaning against a wall to support himself. He didn't look so good. The door was locked when Alfred had tried to open it, so reluctantly, he went to Arthur to get the key. _

_Being in the state the English man was in, the American was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to open the door, let alone get the key out from his own pocket. Another sigh was let out as Alfred made a split second decision and put both hands in Arthur's pockets, finally retrieving a key after a few seconds of searching. Thank God they were there, otherwise it would have felt a little more uncomfortable for him. He may have felt bad for doing it, but he needed the house open. _

_Arthur started to protest behind him, but the door was soon opened and he dragged Arthur inside. As soon as they were in, Alfred whipped off his shoes then and looked over to Arthur with a grin, only to let a confused look pass his face moments later. Arthur was giving him one of those weird, quizzical looks again. About to ask a question as to why, he saw the man's face heat up again as anger replaced the quizzical look on his face. _

_"What the bloody hell? Get out!" he smaller nation yelled. _

_Alfred, getting even more confused, felt a strange feeling of indignation build up with inside of him. What the hell? He'd just brought him home and now Arthur was kicking him out? Arthur may be drunk, but he was being too much of an asshole. _

_"You prick!" Arthur yelled randomly. He swayed more as to where he leaned on the wall against the entrance then, head drooping a little. It seemed he still had the energy to yell at Alfred for no apparent reason though, even if he looked like he may pass out any moment. Just what the hell was his problem? It was really starting to piss Alfred off now rather than get him confused and surprised. _

_"Fuckin' go away! You...ugh.. Dammit it all! And after I took you in and everything! Stupid, stupid, stupid," he repeated over and over, eyes completely glazed over. _

_Why did Arthur have to be like this? Why did he have to act as if he never cared? He was fighting again, simply blaming Alfred for everything. He really must hate him for that. Hearing Arthur repeating stupid over and over again, something snapped. _

_Something deep with in his fun loving self had snapped. _

_"Dammit! Shut up already!" he growled loudly, pinning the Brit whom he had escorted home against the wall in seconds. "I'm so fucking sick of this!" _

_Surprised, Arthur simply let out a gasp of helplessness in response, fidgeting uncomfortably as he realized through his dazed thoughts that he may be in danger of some sort. One second he was the one yelling at the American and now the tables were turned. _

_That was enough to break the American. That was enough to keep him from holding back anymore. That one small gasp – it had changed everything. _

_Forcefully pressing his lips to the other nation's for reasons unknown to himself, he felt Arthur fall down from in front of him, either too surprised to respond or too drunk to do anything about it. Good. Not hearing of the usual protests, it gave way for Alfred to cave in. To cave in to what he had been desiring and holding himself back from doing. He too, then went down to the floor with Arthur._

In the midst of his blurry and hazy mind, one small thought cried out to him. Shocked, the thought slowed him down from what he was doing, and a heavy cloud was lifted from his mind. Before the vile deed could be finished, before he went through with it completely, Alfred found himself and pulled back. Scrambling away from Arthur in seconds, he tried to calm his quickened heartbeat, even if his ears picked up on what seemed to be groans of protest from the half conscious Brit. His eyes glanced over at the scene once more, finding it so sickeningly wrong that his face paled. Soon enough, he backed up even more, the lust washing away from his body as he realized in full force what he had done. His shocked blue eyes reflected the scene before him, suddenly letting out choked gasp.

Arthur had passed out a couple seconds ago.

Regret washed over him.

At least he hadn't gone through with the entire 'deed'. He had almost though…  
He'd almost done it.

He'd almost taken Arthur unwillingly. Against his will...What the hell was wrong with himself? Just...what was going through his mind? He may have had a few beers, but that didn't impair his judgment, did it? No matter how much he would like to blame it on the beer, he knew in his heart he couldn't. No, he was fully aware now of what he had done. That whole deal had been based on some sort of lustful want, yet hate. With the Brit impaired like that, he found his body couldn't help but want to gain the touch it had yearned for. He wanted to see Arthur act like that because of him. Saying Alfred's name, even if he wouldn't remember what he had done.

Well, Alfred got what he wanted, now unable to shake the disgusted feeling from himself.

The American stood up slowly, shaking violently as he looked at the disheveled Brit before him. He...couldn't just leave him here like this...No. Fixing Arthur's pants and clothes, he felt his stomach drop, unable to look at Arthur any longer. Just a little more...As he bent back down, he picked Arthur up from the floor and brought him to he bedroom to lay him down on the bed gently, fixing him up just a little more. Horror spread across his face as he left the Brit on the bed, fear suddenly gripping him at what he suddenly realized he had just done.

He'd put Arthur in the bed and fixed his clothes up as if he could hide the evidence.

As if he may be able to erase what he had done.

No way was he able to do that now.

After that, the memory was all a blur. The memory of how fast he had ran out of England's house.

Dashing out from the scene into fresh air, he staggered across the street, too shocked with himself to know where he was going. He was a little tipsy from the few beers he decided to have. Everything seemed to become heightened. The lights shone brighter, stinging his eyes. People's voices grew louder, hurting his ears. Everything he tried to touch...it felt oddly numb. Finally making his way down the slightly busy street and into a park where there were less people, he tried to calm himself. It was already so late in the night. He should get home.... Suddenly, he remembered the reason why he had come here in the first place.

The reason was that he wanted to tell Arthur his recent adventures at a new zoo that had opened up. He hoped to take the Brit there on a happy adventure, yet when he came here it turned out to be the same old thing. Arthur wasn't home, he eventually assumed the worst and went to the bar to find him there, and then things just unfolded from that point on.

He stumbled along in the streets as he started to freak out again, and all too soon enough he felt himself lurch over and empty his stomach behind a bush in the park, burning hot tears welling up from the sides of his eyes. Why did he have to go and drink too? Now here he had gone and got himself all worked up. He should…go home.

Yes, that was what he should do.

Ah, and he forgot that there was a meeting tomorrow! At his place! He almost wanted to cry. He really was an idiot like everyone said he was. He never thought things through, did he? He really did act like a child, just like everyone had said. He knew he wouldn't be able to talk or let alone look at Arthur. He wouldn't be able to look at any of the nations.

Would Arthur remember?

No, of course not.

How wasted he was, he was sure to have a blackout.

How would he tell Arthur what he had done? How would he face up to him? He…was the hero right? Things would turn out all right.

Heroes never overtook people.

Heroes were the ones to save young girls from getting their virtue taken by evil villains.

He…couldn't be a hero now.

The role he played tonight was that of a villain.

He was a disgusting, sickening villain. One night of pleasure just to comfort himself from the pain. The pain of Arthur acting like he hated him every day. He could see it. See the regret in Arthur's eyes every time he looked at him. He never wished he raised him. He loathed Alfred's very existence. It was too much, even for the fun loving, optimistic American. Things lost meaning when he was around Arthur. Hamburgers? No, they tasted worse when the Brit was around. Being a hero? No, he could never be a hero when Arthur was around. Arthur had gotten to him that much, no matter how much of a facade he tried to put on.

He soon enough pulled up from the bush he had been sick behind, looking around the park with apprehensive, yet tired eyes. He was still so young, but now he felt so tired. Not just the sort of exhaustion tired either. Removing himself from the park as he made his trek on the way back home, he was still shell-shocked over what he was done.

His house eventually reached by means of various transportation, he opened the door quickly and quietly. Before anyone could say anything, he went to his room, locked the door, and sat there for the rest of the night. No, he wouldn't be able to sleep no matter how he wanted to try and escape the bad memories for a few hours of rest.

The guilt was too much to bear.

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**A/N **: First chapter finished. So, you know my request. Reviewing shall keep this story alive! Well, unless you think it was total fail…I hope not. ): I promise I'll try to write as fast as time allows me! Ah… it's slipping away again~ Come back time! );


	2. The Absolute Pain Guilt Brings

**Title**: A Night of Sin

**Summary**: Alfred overtakes Arthur one night while he is drunk, but Arthur doesn't seem to remember a thing. When will the guilt be enough for the secret to come out? USXUK

**Rating**: T for teen

**Disclaimer**: Who doesn't own Hetalia? Me, Myself, and I. :D

**A/N** : You guys DEFINITELY reviewed enough, so I felt so bad for not continuing that I picked up the story again.

Sorry if it sucks.

And I'm sorry for taking so long to continue with this story. I feel so bad, but I promise I'll try to update as soon as I can. It's asap, 'kay baby? 8] That means it's at the top of my list (behind school, of course).

Well, here it is, and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Absolute Pain Guilt Brings**

Arthur woke up and things felt oddly painful.

There was a crick in his neck, a burning sensation in his muscles, and his back hurt.

His head…oh God.

A hand was brought to the source of throbbing, his body curling under the pain as his eyes shut tight to block any source of light. Obviously something had gotten out of hand last night. Not surprising enough, he didn't remember anything as usual.  
It wasn't supposed to turn out that way at all…

Or was it really?

Why did he drink so much?

Itself was a controversial question.

At times, he simply went to the bar, forgot how many drinks he had, and then it turned out to be a full fledged drinking session. Other times were simply needed to satiate his desires for the familiar liquid. Certainly, even though he couldn't remember anything from the pub, he knew exactly the reason why he had drank so much last night. Painful thoughts that were suddenly in his head were avoided, making the throbbing pain worse.

The sad attempts to forget certain memories from the past by over intoxication may have been the secret reason to why he drank so much, but when the memories would disappear altogether was a question he constantly asked himself. At what point would he drink enough to where he would forget everything? Never…probably. Always, they were past memories of a certain blonde haired tall nation. He helplessly wanted to let the past go at times, but something in the back of his head clung to it all desperately. He may have thought they were gone when they got blurry, but he always knew they would be there. Never was he able to look at that American without recalling something, and at the right time, memories always came back to bother him. A simple business relationship was never enough; a simple friendship was out of the question.

He had stuck himself in a rut of questionable qualities with no way out. So, when they saw each other, war always ensued. Whether it was the provocative statements Arthur used at times or whether it was Alfred's downright obnoxiousness that had started it all was not known. It would never really be known.

Ugh…thinking about this stuff too early in the morning with this sort of migraine did not work out well.

Arthur sat there for a moment, his eyes adjusting as he surveyed the room, finding it way too bright for his tastes. He just wanted to die right now. Taking in more than needed last night had caused its obvious effects. Then again, there were effects he knew for certain never usually took place while he was drunk. He never cared that he didn't remember things before, but after feeling his body and looking over himself a bit, he realized it was a tad odd.

The searing pain in his muscles here was new, as well as the soreness of his back. And bruises? He never ever remembered bruises.

His wrist was noticed and examined as he poked a darkened bruise on it, almost wincing in pain a little. Where had he acquired such a nasty bruise? Maybe he was kicked out of the pub last night? That would make sense if they were to drag him out by force, case being he refused to leave or drank too much. Though…he knew the bartender well enough and was pretty friendly with him.

Without further thought because his head hurt too much, his hands removed the covers on his body to get up, discovering the wrinkled mess called clothing that clung to him. Wow, he must have really gotten wasted. His clothes were so very wrinkled. More than usual, it had seemed.

Trying to remember what happened still wasn't a thing he wanted to worry about, but now he was a little weirded out. Ah, maybe he had a tussle with someone? That would explain the bruises, and fighting was often expected at pubs. He must have pissed someone off enough to where he got into a fight.

From the looks of it, he had lost it pretty badly. That wasn't to good for dignity, but at least he didn't remember, neither did it occur strange to him that even if he had lost a fight, he somehow ended back in his bedroom. A few shivers emitted from the small frame as a wave of nausea came, then passed a little while later. Sometime, someday, he promised himself he would stop drinking.

Sitting up in bed, he ran his hands through his greasy hair while noting he had to take a shower. He should probably get ready for the day now, or at least attempt to through the pain. The clock was glimpsed at before cold, hard realization set in.

Today was the meeting, wasn't it?

Well, that was absolutely great. And the meeting was at America's place too…"Oh bollocks…" A few profanities were also added to that as he tried to act alert. How could he have forgotten? This was the only important meeting that he absolutely had to attend in a long while. Everyone would be there…Did he not think of this last night when he had headed to the pub? Sure, he felt pretty down or whatever, but still. Still what? He had too much time to think with on his hands. Last night, he just seemed to cave in to his problems. Problems? He didn't have problems, did he? Shaking his head, he stood up and staggered a bit, feeling weaker than normal.

And then all to quickly he had stumbled to the bathroom.

Why did he have to feel so bad today of all days? Why did he have to drink so much? Why did he have to get into a fight? He knew he probably looked as if he were in a fight too. Not that he cared about the American seeing him this way or anything…He did have a respectable reputation though and had to look presentable at the meeting, so this was not good. He should have thought a little more, although the head pain wasn't helping that all too much.

When the bathroom was reached, he caught a look in the mirror. His lips were a little red and puffy, but oddly enough, the rest of his face was fine. He must have gotten punched in the face if his lips were slightly split like that…. yet why didn't he have any bruises on his cheeks, then? Or why weren't his gums bleeding? Only his lips were red…Odd. Lots of things seemed to be off this morning. Connecting two and two had never happened. Leaving the idea ignored, the regular daily routine had ensued. He shook his head as he hurried to the shower, washing away all worries beneath the warm, reassuring water.

* * *

"Mon Arthur! You look horrible!" a French man exclaimed, dragging out the last word in an almost obnoxious accent.

So, apparently the shower hadn't washed away everything from last night. Bruises still remained on his body, and later on he had found an odd one on his shoulder too, but that was easily covered up by his shirt and jacket. Where the bruises had come from, he still mused over that fact. Of course they could be covered up under the clothes, but where they were on his body just seemed strange. Sadly, though, the bags under his eyes could not be concealed. He could not hide how tired he was.

The meeting room Arthur was now in was already filled when he came in late, and some nations were staring at him as if he were actually in a fight last night, or that he had just gotten a serious lack of sleep. Matthew just have him an odd look when he entered, Yao asked him a question that he ignored, and...

Francis already managed to piss him off.

"And you look so much bloody better yourself," Arthur muttered in response, running a hand through his slightly unruly hair.

Francis noticed his tired look and the pissy way he was acting, instantly assuming that he had done something last night or had gotten drunk. "Ahh, indulge yourself last night, my coquin one? With whom, may I ask? Or did you have another pity party?" he teased, a small smile playing on his lips.

His mind coming up with a blank to the insult, he instantly grew more defensive. "Bugger off, Francis," Arthur growled, his eyebrows furrowing as he half glared at Francis, feeling the urge to punch him right in the face. He did not need this right now.

Not so early in the morning.

Not after last night.

Not after all of the recent thoughts he had been having lately.

Not after all of the bothersome memories.

It was too much, and it just left him too tired for anything else. Resorting to drinking just seemed so much easier, but all it did was make things worse.

Despite that he was told to go away, the French man continued in his prodding and poking, wanting to gain some reaction from Arthur. He looked over the English man's features again, making it obvious that he was observing the tired Arthur. "I must say, that look suites you very well. Very sexy, non?" The reply was sarcastic, and the smile Francis had turned to that of a smirk.

Too tired to even get angry or bother with a come back, the Briton's eyes surveyed the room again as his mind was deep in thought. Or was he looking for a certain blonde that still wasn't here? No, he wasn't...Everyone else in the room was waiting for the now late American to show up. How strange it was...Alfred may be loud and annoying, but never was he excessively late. Shouldn't the meeting have started already? Arthur himself was a few minutes late to the meeting, thinking he'd walk in and be embarrassed or something. Well, at least that hadn't happened. Eyebrow's still knitted together though as he subconsciously wondered as to where the nation to start things was.

Francis, observing the changing emotions on the Brit' s face quietly, became a tad curious with the last one that had appeared on his face. Ahh, England was so easy to read at times, just like an open book for anyone willing to look close enough. "Hmmm, Quel est le problème?" Francis asked, hating to be ignored. Arthur seemed like something was bothering him, which put Francis on a slightly more serious note.

England just shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably, ignoring the French man's questions once more. He thought it was going successfully until he felt warmth next to him and a breath run down his neck.

"Je vais me déshabiller pour toi…That is, if you want," Francis suggested, a playful grin spreading across his lips as he tried to evoke any response from Arthur with 'his' methods. His methods being a simple two steps. One, pester them. Two, if one didn't work, ask them if they would like to see him strip and get information out of them with harassment. Two seemed to have a higher success rate, but of course that all depended on which nations he was bothering.

With Francis' suggestion, Arthur just gave a sharper glare, finding the attention highly unwanted. He did not have to deal with this today.

From the next seat over by Francis, a slightly invisible Matthew gave a look of desperation, obviously understanding the French man's words to Arthur. Francis caught this from the corner of his eye almost instantly and forgot the Brit's problems right away, whispering sweet nothings into the Canadian's ear as if it were a sign of forgiveness.

"J'ai envie de toi, mon amour." England could already hear the whispers Francis was giving Matthew, causing the Brit to roll his eyes, though Arthur was glad he was saved from the French man's pestering. Oh lord…what was Francis saying to Matthew now? At least the Canadian seemed happy enough - his whole face painted in a vibrant red. Francis simply took Matthew's lack of words as a yes to his advances, scooting his chair closer to the blushing blonde.

Arthur didn't want to look at it anymore. He couldn't look at it anymore. The small affections Francis openly showed towards Matthew gave him a feeling of uneasiness. Francis always seemed on such good terms with Matthew…while Alfred and he…

A frown was formed as he crossed his arms, restricting the air from getting to his already needy lungs. Why couldn't he breathe right? Ahh, he needed to calm down.

When would this stupid meeting start already?

"Mornin' everyone!" A high-pitched voiced that entered the room interrupted any side conversations as well as Arthur's thoughts. Arthur felt a pang go through his heart at the sound. His eyes allowed him to travel towards the source, a small shake coming from his frame before his eyes clashed with cerulean blue ones. Each nation looked away quickly, but the effects they had on each other were different.

Arthur felt…just a little weird by the look America gave him. His heart dropped and leapt at the same time, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, his hands felt a little too cold, and he had a hard time breathing regularly as his heart beat picked up pace. Damn, he needed to have this stuff checked out. Why did he feel worse than usual? Well, besides the pounding headache and slight nausea. Normally, he would of already came up with some sort of provocative statement to refute anything the American said, but his mind was coming up blank. He felt a little more uncomfortable then usual.. How strange.

Suddenly, almost right after looking at the American, a memory from last night was hooked and drawn in, allowing him a small sliver of a glimpse. Confusion spread across his face as he got a look of glasses and blonde hair in the memory. Was that real or made up? Did he dream that? Why was it so dark? He must have dreamed that...His head pained increased, causing him to bring a hand to rest on his forehead. Oh, he felt too terrible. He knew he shouldn't be over thinking, but it was vital that he pay attention to the meeting. Okay, maybe not really. Other nations, like North Italy, already occupied themselves with sleeping or bothering other nations. This would be a loud meeting today, wouldn't it? Everyone else seemed jumpy and energetic but him. He seemed to feel the bags under his eyes get heavier, his head drooping a little. He needed more sleep...

When Alfred's eyes clashed with the Brit's…he felt like he was going to die. All that flashed through his mind were memories of last night. Oh, the horrible, indecent memories. His knees grew weak as he stopped in his mid stride, almost tumbling over. Luckily he had caught himself, but that did not stop his clumsy thoughts. He was still distracted from reality. His mind replayed what he had seen with the Brit, the pit of his stomach feeling so empty and low, and yet he felt so nauseated.

Arthur seemed terrible..

Why did he look so horrible?

Oh, what had he done? What did he do?

Alfred felt the parasitical internal thing eat away at his insides. Was that a bruise he found on the Brit's wrists when he looked at him? He did that…

No…

He inflicted harm on Arthur.

It was his entire fault.

He couldn't do this today, no matter how much he wanted to fool himself that he could.

Still, he had to at least try with the meeting, right?

He had to try…

In his frozen state, Alfred's mind babbled, the words making themselves out of his mouth too. It wasn't really a good way to start a meeting, even if he was usually obnoxious and loud anyways.

"S-so…Umm…Yeah…The world! It's round, right? Oh, ha ha…Wait…never mind. We…Already established that, huh?" Alfred laughed and scratched his head, his hands desperately searching through some papers. Some dropped to the floor in his desperate struggle.

Well, someone was disorganized.

He could not be in the same room as Arthur.

It was too much.

Nations looked at America as if questioning his stupidity levels, but Russia was the first to respond, which almost instantly doused anyone else's thoughts over the matter. "Sleep in late, da? Will you finally become one with Russia? Will all finally become one with Russia?" A creepy smile spread across the man's face, causing different reactions from across the room. Some were disgusted out faces, some looks of fear, and others indifference.

America ignored Ivan's statement, eventually fishing out a paper he was looking for.

Finally, the meeting had officially started.

Of course, what they were talking about now was global warming, since they seemingly didn't have anything to discuss.

It had started with America opening the topic once again, and it was quite unsuccessful at that. It took him at least more than five minutes just to get one of his main points across, which he inevitably failed to do anyways. During his time to talk, he felt just so uncomfortable having all eyes on him, as if there was a hidden thing he should be owning up to.

Well, there was.

Alfred couldn't help that through one or two times in the speech, his eyes traveled towards England's, finding that when he did, he instantly lost his train of thought, if ever there was one.

Even if England didn't look his best today, Alfred couldn't help but to feel something deep within. Oh God, and he still had the thoughts that Arthur looked good after what he had done! His heart still leapt at the sight of him! What the hell was wrong with him? Dammit, look away! Why couldn't he? It was if a something forced his stare to stay fixated on Arthur, causing a sort of stage spotlight effect to take place. He felt as if he were unable to move. Guilt chewed him up and forced him to look at what he had done.

Arthur more or less stayed in tune with what Alfred was saying in the meeting, but all it did was make his head hurt more. One or two times he was tempted to say something, but when he opened his mouth to interject rudely on the American's idiocy, a flash of blue caught his eyes and a glimpse of a memory came to mind once more. Blinking, he tried hard to focus on the blurred image, but nothing came up. After that, no longer had he tried to say how stupid the American was.

It just felt so wrong with him being in here for some reason.

After Alfred had met eyes with the Brit the second time, his mind felt as if it had been wiped clean. "I propose we...um...drop more ice in the Artic Ocean! Yeah, that would work..." Even if Alfred was distressed, he seemed to be acting stupider today. Feeling nervous, he glanced over towards the Brit again, suffocation setting in.

Oh, yes, Arthur heard what he had said, but his tired self just didn't have the energy to respond to that in any way. He wasn't even looking in the direction of the American anymore.

He couldn't even give out the usual insults today.

Alfred almost hyperventilated, feeling more terrible then ever. Why was Arthur acting so weird? Was it all his fault? Did he know what Alfred did? A dizzy feeling set in as he felt as if he were going to pass out any second. He needed to get out from this meeting now.

An excuse was quickly thought of.

"Haha, I…ummm…need a hamburger! I ran out! Yeah! Be back in a sec! U-ummm, you talk, Germany! Yeah, yeah!"

With that, the door was opened and shut in two seconds flat.

Nations questioned his behavior and some even called him an idiot for leaving the meeting for a 'hamburger', but all thoughts of it were soon left. All besides Arthur, Francis and the invisible Matthew. Lithuania even held small worry, but that was forgotten once the booming voice of Germany filled the room.

Still, Francis suspected something was up. He had seen the looks between Alfred and Arthur and the almost apprehension in Alfred's eyes. Something had happened…Perhaps he would have to…ask about that later. This wasn't a thing he would pass up. After all, Arthur was a friend, despite their constant disputes.

Even if Francis had picked up on both nations' oddities, all Matthew had noticed was Alfred's weird behavior and nothing more. He was worried for his brother, wondering as to why he was acting stupider than usual. Matthew knew his brother could be smart when he wanted to, but that was just sad. Something about him was off...

Arthur, too, had wondered about the American. After Alfred had ran out unexpectedly, Arthur perked up a little, also having the small worry as to why he ran out like that. It wasn't like him at all...or was it really? Yeah, he would leave the meeting for a hamburger, wouldn't he? Arthur let the idea of worry drop just as soon as it had started.

Oh well.

The rest of the meeting had gone smoothly.

Well, sort of.

If you could call nations harassing each other, beating each other up, and having argumentative disputes good. When it was England's time to talk, he just said a few small things and let it go from there. His small exuberance over such matters was lost and he found his work to be all too unimportant today. That was a tad surprising and really lazy on his part.

He should have gotten with it, but his head had hurt so much...

And after Alfred had returned from his 'hamburger' break, Arthur's head hurt even more.

Despite this, he still got bits of his memory back randomly through the meeting, but it was nothing that made sense. He never ever got his memory back after excessive drinking nights, so why now? It was as if one had a dream, then woke up and couldn't remember it, but later if one saw something that reminded them of that dream, they would remember it suddenly.

Every time Arthur so much as glanced in Alfred's direction, he found his head ache get considerably worse as if it was trying to tell him something. He also noticed the way America seemed more tired than usual. Was Alfred over exerting himself too much? Was he getting enough sleep? Ah, why should Arthur care? In asking those questions, he was only being hypocritical. Arthur barely got any sleep as it is.

When the meeting had finally come to a close, Arthur gave once last flicked of the eyes in Alfred's direction. His eyes met the American's for once moment, his heart feeling as if it had turned to ice. That look? What was up with that look Alfred had in his eyes? Alfred had already all to quickly turned away when the Brit had noticed.

Arthur simply sat there for a moment in a dazed state, taking in the situation at hand. After looking into the American's eyes that last time, he had gained a little more memory. Or was it really memory? It was all too confusing. Maybe he had dreamed it, huh? What he had seen was that he was obviously in the pub last night, but that a certain blonde was sitting next to him, giving him an almost sympathetic smile. He must have dreamed it...

Why did he have the overwhelming feeling that it was real though?

Was he...actually there?

Nations trickled out of the room as he sat there, still immersed in his thinking. Suddenly remembering that the meeting was in fact over, he stood up quietly. As he gathered his paper work, a compelling feeling came over him. Once his hands absentmindedly put things away, he picked it all up and headed for the door. The only ones really left in the room now seemed to be Francis, Matthew and Alfred. The American was already quickly leaving once he had all of his things together, making it seem like he was in a hurry.

As Alfred started for the door before Arthur, the Brit sped up just a little for reasons unknown to himself. The English man's hand reached out without consent and rested on the taller nation's shoulder for a second before it pulled back quickly, leaving a slightly baffled Brit. Why did he want to talk to Alfred? About what? To confirm that stupid, wrong memory? Why would Alfred even want to visit him anyways? Sure, he did it from time to time, but it was very rare, even coveted and savored at the times when he popped up. Of course those feelings were hardly acknowledged though.

Alfred was a little more than surprised when he had felt that tap on his shoulder. The meeting had ended, he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, and he headed for the door as fast as his legs would carry him. Apparently, though, it was not quick enough...

He froze then and started to turn around stiffly. For almost the fourth or fifth time today, his eyes met those green ones. Oh Lord...Why?

What was Arthur doing? Why was he coming over here? Did he suspect something? He looked so bad. That was all Alfred's fault, wasn't it? He was crushed under the guilt's weight, having ever so sinful memories again. How horrible! Oh, how horrible. He would never be able to rid himself of them. His face grew slightly pale in knowing that. He still was not emotionally ready to face Arthur like this. Not at all. He felt as if he should just run now. He barely even noticed when Francis and Matthew had left the room, leaving the villain with the unknowing victim.

When his success in gaining the American's attention worked and Alfred had turned around, Arthur found he couldn't help himself now. He felt stupid enough as it was for even asking this question, but an invisible force seemed to compel him to talk to Alfred. The images of the blonde hair as well as darkness filled his head when he looked at Alfred. What did it all mean? It was so vague and was probably just his imagination. Besides this, he still felt the need to ask. There seemed to be a strange feeling as if Alfred had been there last night. What…what had he said? He could have said anything if Alfred was there. Anything…

Arthur glanced at the bruise on his wrist again…What if he had a fight with America? That would explain some things in the ways Alfred was acting.. Oh…a fight? He felt dreadful all of the sudden, though America didn't seem like he was hurt at all besides his weird behavior. What if he actually hated Arthur and was avoiding him? This thought choked him up, almost making him stop dead in his tracks. He couldn't hate Arthur, right? No, wait, he could. After all Arthur did to him…of course he could.

Words came out then, almost choked and restrained. What had he done last night? "Alfred…Were you… at the pub with me last night? I keep feeling like there should be something I need to remember…but I simply can't," he said quietly, his voice trailing off. Looking away, he held his hand to his head, the pounding feeling only increasing now. What a silly question to be asking. Of course Alfred wasn't there last night.. He hoped the American wouldn't laugh in his face or something.

Glancing back up towards the tall American, his eyes caught a look of horror on the man's face. What? Was there something wrong with the way he looked? Feeling self conscious, his eyes surveyed his clothes. Was this a joke of some sort? Oh, if it was, Arthur was so going to-

"No, Arthur…I was at home last night," Alfred lied simply.

And with that, Alfred was out of the meeting room and out of the building in less time than the unsuspecting Brit could even get one word out of his mouth. When Alfred finally got far enough, he almost broke down as he leaned against the closest tree.

Oh God.

What had he done?

That response was so forced. Surely Arthur would suspect something, right? Oh no…Deep down though, there was a nagging feeling that he wanted Arthur to know. No, the Brit needed to know. Texas was lifted as the bridge of his nose was pressed, trying to find any sort of relief. He shouldn't be having these sorts of problems now while still so young. Oh, and yet his chest hurt so bad.

No, this wasn't like the feeling of breaking a vase when one was little or telling a tiny white lie. As a child, guilt isn't something one thinks about or reflection on what one did. Consideration for other people doesn't come until later in life.

Despite this bubbling feeling for the truth to come out, there were some small whispers that only made him feel all the guiltier: Why did Arthur have to know? Why should Alfred care for what he did? Why did he do what he did?

Wait…

Why did he do what he did?

It came to him, then.

Why?

All he ever wanted was the recognition from his former caretaker. All he ever wanted was to be noticed, to be cared for… Arthur never paid attention to him and when he did, it seemed so forced and hateful.. Why did Arthur hate him so much? Why did he care if Arthur hated him so much?

Alfred caught some memories and drew them in; a smiling Arthur was recalled to the surface from when he was a child. He hadn't seen Arthur smile like that in years, and certainly not because of him. He was always so annoyed these days… Not fun at all. Alfred felt his teeth clench almost to the point where it hurt, as if all of his teeth would shatter under the extreme force. His eyes shut tighter, as if the world and all of its problems would disappear if he just stayed like this forever.

If only…

"Mon cher…is something wrong?" an oddly familiar voice asked. "You look awful."

Alfred gasped and jumped, scraping his skin against the bark of the tree as his muscles involuntarily tensed. Letting out a small string of profanities, his eyes wearily looked to whom had called him.

Francis?

* * *

**A/N **: H-haaa…yeah. So, I know it took me months to make another chapter, but it was worth it, right? (I'll shut up now). I can understand if you don't wanna review any more. D; But, yeah, I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as I have some of that precious time. Hey, look! I found some! Yaaay! Look forward to the next chapter, which is coming soon to a computer near you.

Translations:

Coquin – Naughty

Quel est le problème? – What's the problem?

Je vais me déshabiller pour toi – I'll strip for you.

J'ai envie de toi, mon amour – I want you, my love.

Mon cher – My dear.


	3. The Guilt that Grows with Time

**Title**: A Night of Sin

**Summary**: Alfred overtakes Arthur one night while he is drunk, but Arthur doesn't seem to remember a thing. When will the guilt be enough for the secret to come out? USXUK

**Rating:** T for teen.

**Disclaimer**: Why U NO UNDERSTAND? I don't own Hetalia.

**A/N :** Yeah, so it's been awhile, huh? I'm not even gonna lie, I was a little shit and didn't post 'cause I'm an ass and like to leave cliffhangers for two years. :D Besides that, I'ma apologizes. *hands out cookies*

Oh yeah, also, I see there was confusion in the first chapter on how far Alfred went with Arthur, and I now realize I should have elaborated more thoroughly. *beats self up for that* I just didn't know how to do it without rating it differently, and at the time, I really didn't want to write it all out. Here, I'll explain it right now. If you have sensitive eyes (pffft), _don't read._

HMMM, what happened was that Alfred put his hands and mouth all over where a certain Brit's love parts are and his fingers up where the Brit's sun don't shine. Alfred was going to go further, as in stick his love parts where the sun don't shine, but stopped himself. I hope that was elaborate enough. If not, perhaps I should redo that part to make it more clear or do another flash back laterz …and then change it to M. HM. :D HAHA, you guys wish…(no really, I might)

YEAH, SO, CHU ENJOY NAO. Go on, go read more angst. Apparently that's the only thing I write best. D:

* * *

**Chapter Three:** The Guilt that Grows with Time

England stood there, in shock when the American literally ran out of the room. Alfred responded to his question and then left without even saying anything about the Brit's eyebrows or his imaginary friends or his terrible cooking. He just…left.

When the blonde had left him in the dust, Arthur felt hurt, as if the nation was so distasted with spending more than a few moments with him. Could Alfred really dislike spending any amount of time with him? They were on bad terms, he knew, but he would rather argue than not talk to the taller nation at all. Alfred usually just didn't run out like that, but at least Arthur had gotten an answer.

Relief came and yet it hadn't. The relief that he hadn't fought with the American last night and that Alfred wasn't there to see him, but no relief in that there still seemed to be something wrong with Alfred…What was it?

Still thinking, he was about to leave the conference room when he heard a shuffle near the entrance. For just a split second, his mind whispered to him the name of a certain blonde, but who entered the room wasn't a person he particularly wanted to see.

Russia walked in, the same old smile still plastered on his face as it had been the entire meeting.

"I forgot something," he mentioned in a sing song voice, and Arthur was happy to oblige to get out of his way. Ivan headed over to the spot in which he sat at during the meeting and picked up a small black journal. Slipping it into his pocket, he made his way back to the door. However, before he left, he turned to look at Arthur, as if calculating something. Finally, after a moment, a dark look entered his eyes.

"Those marks, you know, seem oddly like someone tried to do something to you, da?" Russia mentioned, his lips curling into that sickening sweet grin that meant he knew more than someone else did.

"W-what do you mean?" England asked slowly. What was that supposed to mean? They weren't that noticeable, were they? He knew Ivan liked to play around sometimes and mess with people's minds, but he felt like there was some truth in what he was saying. Looking back down at his bruised wrist, Arthur felt a slow realization creeping into his mind. He didn't like this one bit.

"Look at yourself again, da? Someone was trying to become one with you." And with that, Russia left the meeting room once again.

England stood there, blinking and thinking and wondering. What the hell did-?

Then the realization hit him.

In an instant, he ran out of the conference room to the bathroom.

He had to look over his body again to confirm what Ivan said. How could he of been so damn naïve? These marks probably weren't from a fight, but from someone trying to get busy with him while he was drunk. He was Britain, for god's sake! He had France as a damn friend! How embarrassing! He wondered how many other nations realized this.

How the hell could this of slipped past him? At least he usually remembered when someone touched him without his consent, but this time, he couldn't even recall who could have. No one gave themselves away, and if it just so happened to be France, he would have known already because the idiot always told Arthur what he did on purpose.

Once in the bathroom, Arthur stumbled into a stall and closed the door quickly. Unbuttoning his shirt quickly and lowering his pants, he inspected his body once again, better than he did this morning while he was still in his drunken stupor and in a rush. Now that he really looked his body over, he stifled a sharp inhale of comprehension. Someone had done something. Ivan was right after all and he was just too hung over to really notice.

He let his eyes wander farther down then, and that was when he saw it. There was an odd shaped bruise right next to his inner thigh that he hadn't noticed before. Lifting his leg up a little to inspect it closer and pushing up his boxers a little, he almost fell back in understanding of what the marking really was – a bite mark. He rubbed it as it to remove the proof that someone had been there, but it stayed in stark contrast against his pale skin.

Breath stuck in his chest, he hesitantly looked back down to try to see if there were any other markings anywhere, and after he knew what he was looking for, inspected the other bruises he had. The one near his shoulder, which he thought was from a fight, wasn't actually from a fight at all. And on his chest, there was one or two of the same size. And the one on his wrist…as if to pin him down. Dear God.

Pieces were fit together.

Who could have done that to him?

It must have been at the bar, must have been. Was…was he raped? No, he would have known, right? He didn't feel like he had been violated down there, so he was pretty sure he wasn't, but someone had tried to. He thought back to that morning, while in the shower, and then thought back to his wrinkled clothes. No way! It couldn't be true! Someone really did try to do something to him. He'd already washed away some of the evidence, which didn't help him in figuring out who it was.

Well, whoever did it was probably one of those bar creeps – the ones that wait and watch for easy to target victims. The asshole that did it had enough gall to wait until he was drunk! If he ever found out who it was, there was no way that they would get forgiveness from him. Yet still, why? He was so angry in his drunken rants and pretty strong at kicking people off of him, so how did this even happen and why would someone want to do it anyway?

And if so, why had they not gone all the way? As sickening as it sounded to the Brit, why stop halfway like that without…well, violating him? Perhaps there was a disruption, and though Arthur tried to think why, he suddenly felt sick to his stomach at the thought of some stranger feeling him up and touching him in ways he would rather not want to think about. He felt sick, and the small space in which he was standing in suddenly started spinning. He didn't remember ever being so out of control with his body before, and didn't remember the last time, or any time really (besides with France, maybe) that something like this happened.

Despite that, there still had to be a reason why the person who did it didn't go all the way. Maybe… maybe Alfred had tried to come and save him, which would explain why he had some memories of that blonde. Yet, the American said he had been at home last night, not with him at the bar. Though, what if he was ashamed to have seen the Brit in that state? Alfred could have seen him like that, disheveled and with someone else kissing him and touching him and taking his clothes off. Suddenly feeling sick again, he lurched over and hugged his arms to his sides while trying to keep the bile down. What if Alfred was ashamed that he helped him at all? What if he was too disgusted with England to even bother telling him the truth?

He didn't pin Alfred as a liar, but what if Arthur had done something to upset him? Such as, treat the kindness Alfred had offered in saving him with yelling and spiteful words. It seemed logical, as he always yelled things while drunken, but something still wasn't making any sense. This whole situation, he began to understand, had something to do with a nameless stranger and Alfred, and in between the time he was drunk last night he got molested and possibly said something or done something to piss Alfred off. One way or another, he would try to figure it out, but how was the question.

Alfred probably hated him by now, probably even more than he hated him beforehand. With the way he looked at Arthur and the way he ran out of the room right away, Arthur was sure that either Alfred was really busy or was just avoiding him out of disgust. Leaning against the stall door, the Brit held back a groan. His life was so fucked up, wasn't it? Spending the night with people he didn't even know, further ruining his tense relationship with America, and drinking almost every night.

No matter how much he didn't want to accept it, most of his problems were due to one person, one nation that got to him more so than the others. All of these years and though their relationship between each other improved a bit, they were still so distant from one another.

Even though he was still bitter about the blonde's independence and was sure Alfred had gotten over most of it, Arthur just couldn't get over the fact that Alfred didn't need him or depend on him like he used to. He would never admit how much he missed those days. It was sad really - sad in how much of the past he lived in.

* * *

Francis? Where did he come from? Alfred noticed the French man standing a few feet away, and he really didn't feeling like dealing with him right now, especially since all of the thoughts swirling in his head threatened to burst out all at once.

Alfred's weary eyes then narrowed at the French man, his expression turning back to that of a small frown rather than a pained grimace. When had Francis got here? This was just what he needed…Stupid perverted blonde…

"No, just leave me alone. Shouldn't you be molesting Matthew or something?"

Ignoring the question about Matthew, Francis just smiled and got closer to America. Nothing wrong with him? Like hell he would believe that. He was acting so weird at the meeting, there had to be something wrong. Francis wasn't all too concerned in knowing, but just happened to find Alfred there and couldn't help his curiosity. If the issue involved some relationship wise, then he would be more than happy to help.

Wanting to diagnose the problem, he turned to the easiest and most known source of all internal conflicts first. "Ah, but I can certainly see there is something wrong with you. A man such as myself does not go through so many relationships without gaining knowledge on them."

Getting close, he put an arm around Alfred's shoulder.

"Relationships?" Alfred spluttered, shaking his head. Why did Francis just assume it was a relationship problem? Damn French man. A flighty fear settled in a crevice of his heart along with the other ones that were already there. This one yelled, 'what if someone found out?' He knew it was so very wrong to be keeping this to himself and that it was even more wrong to deny that it had even happened. How could he continue to keep the secret bottled up?

He felt dreadful – his hair was a mess and Nantucket drooped almost sadly – because he got up late. His eyes were dry and red, he felt almost lethargic because of the lack of sleep, and shivers continuously ran through his body. One could pass this up as him being sick. He knew better though. This was his entire fault, as many other things seemed to be when Arthur was involved.

"T-that's not what's wrong! I just…" He was going to say that he ran out of hamburgers or something as an excuse, but right now he felt as if he couldn't pull it off. How odd it was to force optimism. How odd it was to act happy. Usually, it was natural thing that came easily with his ignorant idiocy and impulsive ideas. It was always natural, unless Arthur was being exceptionally ornery towards him. Why did the Brit affect him so much? Thoughts were interrupted when Francis pressed the idea once more.

"So, what's wrong?" Francis had to know, and most definitely knew it was a relationship trouble judging on what his eyes reflected and how he acted. Besides, he knew that now there were no major, drastic problems happening in his country such as war, so Alfred should be normal, but he wasn't. He looked like he was chewed up and spit out.

Pushing Francis away, Alfred shook his head and crossed his arms. A thought striking him, his pain filled eyes glanced at the French man. Francis had to know about this then; he just had to get it off of his chest before he mentally fell apart piece by piece. This was a small start, and yet it was so hard.

"Have-have you ever…" A cough was given in the middle of the sentence as he looked away. How could he tell the French man this? Maybe he should just scrap it and make up an excuse. Like, he had somewhere to be! Maybe McDonalds…Yeah…Not before a few second had passed though, words came out to finish the previous idea. It was all just seeming to pour out now.

"…You know…overtaken someone?" The horrible question was finished and Alfred felt his heart drop, thinking a judgment of some sort would come.

This was such a weird subject to be talking about and he already felt so dirty for it. Normally he wouldn't, but last night was the first time he'd ever played a – cringe – villain like that. Oh, the word stung him. Maybe he should just force himself in jail or something for such a criminal act. Such a horrible person he was. Never had he touched anyone like that without consent…. especially not Arthur. His personal life of that sort usually stayed secret, unlike France and Russia's. They almost always admitted their relationships with others outright. At times, it was awfully disturbing too. And he always thought his brother Matthew was innocent.

That last thought brought him back to look at the Frenchman, obvious anxiousness shown in his eyes. Francis pondered over what the American had said, a look of confusion spreading across face before a grin spread moments later.

"No relationship troubles, huh?" His question simply gave way for him to muse over Alfred's last confusing question. Then, almost all too suddenly, it had made sense. Before the American man could respond, Francis shook his head and put a finger to Alfred's lips.

"Ah, you mean make love to them without their consent? As in, claim them without permission? " his voice lingered on the last word, a small smirk appearing on his lips as his arm wrapped back around Alfred, letting it now rest around his lower waist.

Of course he had his experience with stuff like this before, and he knew when someone was having problems with it. It wasn't that he knew everything, but he had years enough of experience to tell when something wasn't going as planned. Of course, he never thought Alfred to have problems as serious as this. The guy could barely tie his own shoes sometimes.

"Why? Want to overtake me?" Francis flirted, though he knew there was an obvious issue if Alfred was asking questions such as this. He wondered why he had asked such a question in the first place, as if he were hiding something. Realization hitting him like a brick, he eyes widened for a fraction of a second before they went back to normal size, not wanting his face to betray him. This was America they were talking about, an idiot. Alfred couldn't have…

"Mon amore? Why ask such an odd question?" he asked, his grip around Alfred's waist tightening as he raised an eyebrow.

Still not receiving an answer, Francis felt Alfred push himself away, shaking his head. His face seemed ghostly white at Francis' last questions; as if he noticed something he would rather not like to admit, as if something really hit him straight to the heart, as if he was guilty about something.

"Raconte! S'il vous plait, Alfred."

Alfred shifted uncomfortably, words stuck in his throat, wanting to make themselves known. He choked on his own villainous regret.

Francis really started to wonder what Alfred had done. Really, this was Alfred, wasn't it? A fun loving idiot of sorts. What could he of possibly done? Francis did have to mention that all in all the serious side of him was attractive, but there was a sense of fear he picked up on, which initially doused those feelings.

Alfred never touched anyone without messing around or looking for a fight, and he certainly never did it in a…sexual way. That was Francis' job, not this boy, not this kid, this child. He was still a boy who loved hamburgers, justice, freedom, being the hero…and now he looked like a child who had done something bad for the first time. Guilt, Francis could see it in his eyes. He could feel it radiating off of him. What had he done?

Deciding not to respond to those almost urgent questions, Alfred answered the first one Francis asked about claiming – is that what he called it? – a person without permission.

"No, I didn't…I didn't claim anyone, but I almost did," Alfred responded slowly, each word raspy. No, he hadn't taken Arthur, but he had the idea to. He stopped right before it got to that point, yet his hands were already so defiled. His eyes had already seen what could not be unseen. He had touched Arthur in every worst possible way. Disgusting.

He felt up Arthur's body, kissed it, ran his hands over every slice of heaven and hell so he could remember both the pleasure and the guilt. He had lifted the blonde up, seen him in ways he never imagined he would see him, seen him as an adult rather than his former caretaker, and brought him back down again to reality, forcing his body to react so wrongfully. He put his rough, weathered hands on such soft skin, such lustful places, and defiled both while looking through the eyes of the sin itself. He had removed clothing, experienced the nakedness between them, relished in the ghost of love's former touch, of what, to him, would never be. He wanted it all and he wanted none. How selfish.

What he would do to take all of the lust filled touches back, to burn the memories of what he had seen, of what his eyes had glimpsed at of the unsuspecting body of his victim and- Eyes were shut as he shook in remembrance, a deep frown forming on his face. What he wouldn't give to take back those kisses, those burning touches, those noises. What he wouldn't give to remove the nervous heartbeat hammering in his chest, the feeling inside that was eating him alive.

What he wouldn't give to take it all back.

He went against his former caretaker, but was it out of a hate, a way to get back at him? No, that wasn't right. That couldn't be it! Alfred's breath hitched in his throat. It was something else, but he didn't mean to express it that way, did mean to inflict such forceful desire, and he never wanted it to be that way. Alfred looked back to Francis, weary and cold inside.

Why was he talking about this with France again? Well, he was experienced in such things, so he supposed it would be, right? Maybe talking to Matthew about this would be better. No, wait, it wouldn't. He didn't know if he wanted to see the horrified look on his brother's face, though he wasn't sure how good Francis' advice would be. No, it had to be good.

Francis looked at Alfred in an odd way after the last response was uttered, forgetting his wonder in why he was being strange. Why did he look so distressed if he didn't do anything? What had he done if he didn't claim anyone then? Ha, simply relentlessly touch them inappropriately or something without permission? He was France, and he did that all of the time!

Yet, France had to admit, that this was Alfred and judging by his reaction, this was the first time he had done something like this. He was obviously upset and shaken up by what he had done. Was he naughty with someone's body when they couldn't say yes or no? With whom though? Wait, just wait a minute. No way.

Sacré bleu!

Suddenly, his questions made sense as he connected two and two. It couldn't be…No wonder Alfred felt so awful. France went over the most obvious explanation in his head.

For one, Arthur was drunk last night, he was covered in bruises, and he seemed to not remember anything at all. Also, Francis had secretly stuck around a little enough to hear the Brit's question about maybe remembering Alfred at the pub with him. He didn't think much of it until now. The other facts were Alfred's weird behavior, the way he was avoiding Arthur, and the distress and helplessness that was shown. The one main thing, which confirmed his beliefs, was the question Alfred had asked about 'overtaking' someone.

And people said he wasn't smart. Well, he'd just diagnosed the problem already, to which he gave himself on a pat on the back for before he took the information gathered into account and saw it for what it really was. Oh, Arthur…poor Arthur. Oh, Alfred. He felt no anger for Alfred, but just sympathy. Something must have gone out of hand, and Alfred must have done something he didn't realize he was doing until he regretted it. From the sound of it, though, he managed to stop things before they progressed too far.

Oh, Francis knew just how they fought with each other, but any person could bluntly tell them that the fighting was not based off of pure hate, but of a series of underlying problems and insecurities. Each always worried about what the other one thought of each other. It was written on their faces, the hurt they inflicted upon each other without even saying a word and the loneliness they felt when reminded of how they used to be affectionate with each other. They hadn't really resolved anything in these many, many years, had they? They had learned nothing at all, and yet France wasn't going to give up on them.

If something had made this already messed up web of problems worse, this just did. Though, everything happens for a reason, right?

"Go talk to Arthur, now," Francis said in all seriousness. Francis was so very worried for Arthur, and no matter if Arthur pushed him away, he still cared for him and they were still friends. He thought for a moment about telling Arthur himself, but then he thought back to his past relationships and knew that he was the one that had to suffer the consequences and make things right again.

In all honesty, he had been with people when his victims had a few drinks to drink, himself being fully conscious. Obviously he held alcohol better than others. All of those times though, he knew there was a sense of regret. So many relationships had taught him well… Well, most of the time. He never felt guilty for groping others and would never feel guilt for that. Most things and rejections were brushed off without feeling.

But he could tell right away that this was eating the poor boy alive. These sorts of problems were not ones he needed to be dealing with, and certainly ones he hadn't dealt with before. After all, he was still young, still youthful, and such problems weren't what he should find himself so worried and torn apart at. He was not the type of person to handle these things well either, Francis could tell. Despite that, Arthur still had to know. Wasn't the road to forgiveness in accepting what you did and telling the other person first?

Or something like that.

"What?"

A blank looking American stared at Francis. He was so adsorbed that he didn't even question how Francis knew about it without Alfred telling him. It was as if his command slapped him in the face. He had to directly tell Arthur, didn't he? No…Arthur would hate him so much. Arthur already loathed him to the core. He hated everything about him, and this would set Arthur even farther away from him. This would be the murder of what little remnants of the relations they had left. Maybe England would even declare war against him? Well, that was a little extreme, but they were childish when it came to fighting with each other.

Francis saw the look of almost fear on Alfred's face and only held him closer, not trying to grope but simply trying to offer a tiny amount of comfort. He was so much older than Alfred and knew so much more. What the sad part was that Francis wasn't all that much older than England and he seemed to be on the same level of understanding of relationships as Alfred. Well, if Arthur's obliviousness didn't plainly point out his problems, his obvious reluctance certainly did.

Francis had the overwhelming feeling that he wanted to help these two, but knew intervening would not be best. Whatever happened was up to them, not him. They would have to solve things between each other, and though it would be a hard road to forgiveness, perhaps Arthur wouldn't give up completely. That was the thing Francis was most worried about, because for the last few years Francis could see it in the Brit's eyes – that pitiful, sorrowful, internal wishing that things were back how they used to be – and it killed him inside.

However, he could not fix everything between them. How this situation would turn out now would be up to Alfred.

"Mon cher…Do whatever you think is right. Whatever is in your heart, do it."

And with that, Francis detached himself from the American and walked away, leaving an almost dumbfounded boy behind that was full of questions. It suddenly hit Alfred that he had never even told the French men of what he'd done.

How Francis had figured it out, he would never know.

Still, he knew it to be clear now that he had to tell Arthur. He would rather have Arthur hate him then to keep this pain to himself. Wasn't it another step to becoming a hero again? Maybe…? Hopefully…

Heroes told the truth, which is what he would do.

Eventually…right? Even though Arthur would probably never talk to him again? Despite the fact that Arthur rarely let grudges go? Even if he would never see Alfred again in the same way? Even though he would – Alfred held back a choke – hate him, despise him, refuse to love him as he once had? In the end, could they even go on as they had before?

How could he to what his heart told him when it was laying in pieces?

Was his heart meant to break like that?

Or had it already been broken?

* * *

**A/N : **So, it's finally finished. Gosh, it took me so long to go back, reread everything and come up with stuff. I couldn't just leave it though – something told me I had to continue. SO YEAH, I hope you enjoyed.

Translations:

Raconte – Tell me

S'il vous plait – Please

Mon Cher – My Dear

Mon Amore – My love


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